"what do you want me to say? i've had a long night. i feel like i'm dreaming. this is just part of the dream."

varney and mullihan exchanged glances.

"he's not a pretty sight," put in varney.

"well, he's just lying there. he's not all smashed up or covered in blood or anything."

they heard a car pull up outside.

"here's the good doctor now," said mullihan. he looked at his watch. "pretty good time for him."

"can we go now?" asked carol.

"are you kidding? lady, i hate to tell you but you still got a long night ahead of you."

"but we don't know anything!"

"we'll decide that. right, limey?"

"yes," said fortescue, addressing carol. "they can't be expected to do anything in haste. look here, detective. why don't we go down to the station now? i assume you will at least treat us to some coffee."

"oh, yes, i think the hardworking taxpayers of new york will spring for that."

"if you don't trust us to go down ourselves - "

"i will take you in, if you don't mind. good morning, doctor," mullihan addressed a small, surprisingly young looking man carrying a black bag as big as a suitcase.

"good morning to you. where's the patient?"

mullihan stepped aside. "right there."

an older man wearing thick glasses and balancing a large case on his shoulder followed - the fingerprint man.

he saw fortescue. "you, again."

"yes, unfortunately."

"let's get going," said mullihan. "we will figure out just how unfortunate it is. call me if you need me," he told varney.

carol and fortescue followed mullihan out into the street to the police car. it was still pitch dark. the temperature had gone down a few degrees.